On Rejection
by Weird Not Boring
Summary: and silly things like mismatched socks and love. A Lily and James love story in one part.


**A/N: So I take a lot of liberties with grammar in this one, but I was trying out a more stream-of-consciousness type of writing so I hope that all of the Grammar Nazis out there won't kick me out of their club. Also, the Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and all that good stuff.**

**Finally, please stay till the end. The beginning is a bit … much. But it is necessary. No light without darkness and all that, yeah?**

And for a moment, everything just stopped. Her brain stopped beating. Her heart stopped breathing and her lungs stopped going in and out and in and out like they had every day since forever. Her ears couldn't see and her eyes couldn't hear anything but the blur of the wall right above his left shoulder. Every muscle in her body could have been dancing the Argentinean tango and she wouldn't have felt it. All she knew was "No."

For a moment, everything stopped. But that moment couldn't have lasted long enough.

With a hidden gasp, every sense filled her body and she felt like screaming and she felt like crying and she felt like running, running, flying far far away where all she would smell would be freshly mown grass and daisies and old books. The blur of the wall filled her brain and her heart beat with the sound of the awkwardness that filled the air. The same air that now filled her lungs. In and out and in and out. She tapped her pinky finger against her book bag just to make sure it was there. It was solid. She was here. She could do this.

"Oh, alright. Sure. Yeah."

Was that her mouth moving up and down? Were those words coming from her lips? She hadn't been aware that her vocal cords had that much bravery left. She could do this. In and out and in and out.

She wouldn't look at his face. She wouldn't look at his face.

The blur of the wall. The blur of the wall was safe. It was home. She gravitated towards it. Something solid, something she could feel. She didn't have to think about it. It was a wall. It was there.

Five steps. Five clicks of heels on cement followed by five clacks of toes. Heel toe Heel toe. Hand firm on her book bag the other hand – what was the other hand doing? She flexed it, safe, down at her side. Five steps.

In and out and in and out and in. Her brain could focus on breathing. Her lungs could focus on moving. Her right ring finger could focus on the predictable roughness of the wall as she walked by it and, unable to resist, brought a finger out to touch it. It was real. It was safe. It was home.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. In and Out. The soft leather binding of her bag. The bounce in her hair as she moved her knees, moved her legs, and moved her feet click click click up the stairs.

First years giggling. Click, click.

Second years, Third years, Fourth years. The blur of wall. In. Out. In and Out.

Finally, the coolness of the handle made even her pinky toe shiver. The creak of the door followed by the soft slam. The thud of her book bag against the wood floor by her bed. Throwing her sweater, shoes, socks … somewhere. Her eyes were pulled towards her large red safe haven and so it was left to her ears to hear the sounds and her ears, her poor ears, had been rather traumatized today. "_No."_

No.

No.

No.

Calmly, she pulled her covers out so she could slide in. Rationally, she laid flat on her stomach, burying her face into her pillow. Heartbroken, she finally succumbed to the quiet sobs of a lonely girl.

"No."

Later, long after the sun had finally set but not so much later that it had risen again, her eyelids pulled themselves up and Lily's eyes focused on the knobby grain of one of the posts on her bed. Her hand, tucked up under her now dry pillow (except for that one wet spot just by where her mouth had lain) felt the tingles of being awakened from slumber and her other hand moved from where it sat patiently on top of her covered hip to brush her bangs out of her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered against the skin beneath her eyes a few more times as she attempted to blink the sleep from her eyes. She rolled over, meaning to push herself out of bed after realizing sorrowfully that yes, she really was awake, and no, she would not be getting back to sleep any time soon, and the memories, as if her rolling over was a gunshot to start a horse race, flooded into her mind.

For a moment, she couldn't bear it. She almost choked back a sob before she realized that she had no tears left. She was done crying for James Potter.

_I am done crying for James Potter_.

Holding onto that thought like it was her lifeline, she reached over to tug at where the covers had gotten tangled up around her feet. She swung her pale – even paler in the moonlight – feet around, noticing with regret how the red and gold paint had chipped at the corners of toes and how she had yet to fix it. Bracing herself, she delicately placed one foot timidly onto the cold floor. Reeling back, her legs swung up to curl underneath her as her freezing toes seeked refuge. Glancing around in the dark, she had no idea where her socks had been thrown – although she imagined that they had probably landed somewhere beneath her bed. Lacking the energy or drive to look, she gathered her courage and then quickly swung her legs back down and fairly sprinted across the room to her dresser. Pulling open her sock drawer as quickly and quietly as she could, she grabbed the first two socks she saw, not even bothering to match them, and then tugged them on her feet, nearly toppling over in her hurry. Reaching down to the bottom drawer, she pulled out a sweater and threw that around her shivering arms. Not stopping to think about whether she closed the drawers behind her or not and in a hurry to creep out of the suffocating silence of her room, she pulled open the door with an audible but unavoidable creak and then tiptoed down the stairs to the common room.

_I am done crying for James Potter_.

The darkness in the stairwell was a more tangible darkness than the dark of her room. She could taste it on her tongue, bitter. She could smell it in the air, fear. She could hear it in her ears, unwanted. Insecure. Not you. _No._

Each inaudible step down took more effort. Why leave something so comfortable for an unknown _thing_? Just as her heart pounded so fast that her feet couldn't take it any more and they, traitors, slowed and her hips, turncoats, braced themselves to swivel back – back past the fifth year door and the sixth year door back to home, back to safety, back to the comforting warmth of her red covers and knobby four-poster – her eyes, which had adjusted to the welcoming darkness of her room and were having a hard time breaching this impenetrable darkness, finally clicked on and began to see a glimmer of pale yellow light from down the stairwell. Feeling hopeful, Lily let out the breath she hadn't been aware her lungs had kept closeted away and hesitantly took one more step forward. And then another. And then another. And then she was flying, careening wildly down the stairwell, narrowly missing door handles and knobs and then finally, landing with an impressive thud sound of two feet on hard wood, finally let out a laugh. And then another. And then another. And then a series of laughs that stole her breath and apparently a bit of her sanity. She clutched her stomach, just hoping to ride this almost hysteria and idiocracy and _rejection_ and then stood up, feeling like the world's biggest loon. The corners of her eyes let go of the tension they had so fervently held onto and her mouth quirked a bit upward from the strong relief coursing through her. She could do this.

"Lily?"

She couldn't do this. She couldn't do this. She so couldn't do this.

Her feet, which had been so quick to want to turn and run before, now stood stuck still to the floor. Her eyes, which she had previously considered her most stalwart companions, betrayed her and instead of staying fixated on the back of the maroon couch in front of her, swiveled around immediately, dragging her whole face with them, to the origin of the sound that had so assaulted her ears and her safety.

Not that she needed to turn to see who it was, anyway. Her ears had identified the timbre of voice immediately, even though the word was spoken in a whisper. A part of her knew that she would always be able to pick that voice in a crowd. Her only hope had been to nestle herself away in some sort of abandoned countryside and listen to other things every second of every minute of every day in hopes of finally, finally, erasing that familiar voice from her head. "_No,"_ he had said before. "Lily?" he had whispered now. But Lily Evans, even if only by some fluke, was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors faced their fears.

So her brain, which lagged behind her eyes in milliseconds, began to register exactly what her traitorous eyes were looking at.

And _Merlin_ he looked good.

Lit only by the light of the fireplace, he looked almost more perfect than she had ever seen him. Probably because, admittedly, she could not see him very well in the dark and her traitorous mind decided that what she needed to see right now was that stupid image of perfection that she had built up when she daydrea- thought _thought _about him before. Often. Rarely.

She could just see the hint of the swell of one perfect cheekbone lying between the strong jaw and brow. The tantalizing glance of hazel peeked out behind widened pupils behind his absolutely dorky (but, she had to admit, adorable) glasses. The firelight did an excellent job at emphasizing the place where the slender of his neck met with strong shoulders – covered, though they were, in a dark – was that maroon? Burgundy? – sweater. His forehead looked even larger than normal – unlike earlier, his messy hair was sticking almost straight up from his face and not, like he probably encouraged, covering up his forehead. His nose looked more slender with the angle of light and she found herself fixated on that bit of skin just to the bottom left of his mouth where she knew that a dimple would form were he in a better mood. His mouth now was set in a sort of open frown – she could just barely see the glimmer of perfectly white straight teeth. He wasn't happy. But he wasn't scared. She couldn't tell what he was, really. A few years ago she would have sworn that she could read him like a really annoying, irritating book. She later realized that he was an enigma to her – every day she figured out more and more. And that intrigued her and it frustrated her and it made her want to – no.

_I am done crying for James Potter_.

And as good as he looked, her eyes also catalogued the flaws. The lighter color of the scar that adorned the bottom of his jaw where he had hit it too hard falling from his broom in 2nd year. The darker bags under his eyes – had he not slept at all? The slight crook in his nose that hadn't healed correctly after Sirius (allegedly) punched it last month. The wider set of his mouth, the thinner than average lips. The thick eyebrows that were somewhat lopsided – she remembered seeing him that one day in third year after Peter had shaved one completely off for … some reason. She couldn't quite remember. The point was – he wasn't perfect. He was quite far from perfect, actually, and she knew it. But she couldn't help herself. Her eyes weren't listening anymore. She couldn't, even with all of her might, make them stray from the fascinating, addictive, path they were so firmly set on.

And then it was just _awkward_.

And she felt it. She felt it in the twist of one ankle around another, her whole weight precarious on a foot and a toe. She felt it in the way her fingers tangled around each other in the small of her back. She felt it in the way her teeth nipped at her lip to keep her mouth shut and not saying anything that would make this more … harder for either of them.

And she knew he felt it too. She couldn't see his eyes but she could just feel them looking determinately at anything _but_ her. His hand reached nervously into his hair, fluffing it up even more. His shoulders hunched and his other hand reached deep into his pocket, his elbow locking at an odd sort of obtuse angle, as if he were trying to bring it as close to his body as possible without removing his hand from his pocket. She saw how uncomfortable he was in the way his body leaned slightly away, as if he too wanted anything more than to be there. But finally, she heard the awkward in the way he said, softly, disbelievingly: "Were you just, er, well, _laughing?_"

She turned away to blush on habit – she was a habitual blusher – and then, when her eyes were finally able to tear themselves away from him, it was better. She was better. She could do this. Make her excuses. Leave. She could do this.

"Yes," she said, in a voice stronger than she thought it would be (but embarrassingly husky from sleep and crying. She cleared her throat once. _Could this be any more weird?_) "Ah – well, I must have been s-sleepwalking. Yes. I am a habitual sleepwalker and I – er, sleepwalk. And laugh. And – was I running again?"

He nodded and the light shifted across his face again and she realized nope – not a traitorous mind. He really did look that good didn't he?

Now that it had started, she couldn't get her mind to stop. "And so, now that I am awake – just now, of course. Wasn't awake when I was er- sleepwalking. Because if I was awake then it would have been normal walking and normal laughing and then I would be a crazy person – which I'm not – a crazy person, that is, because I am a sleepwalker as I have already established …" she trailed off. Her brain shouted _Stop! Stop! Mouth STOP!_

But as he didn't seem to be forthcoming with any more words – _he had said enough for the week, actually_, she thought snidely – she couldn't help but add, "So I guess I'll be going now, so, uh, yeah. Goodbye."

She forced herself to take slow controlled steps to the staircase even though every muscle and every breath and every bone in her body was screaming at her to just run as far and as fast as she could but she would have been better if she had listened to them.

"Lily, wait," he finally said. The desperate tone in his voice was what motivated her to actually listen to him. As if it were a force acting upon her body, that desperation made her swivel around to look at him, even though, from this distance, she could scarcely see much but his outline against the light from the dying embers of the fireplace.

"Come back," he said, once he realized that he had her attention. "Please, Lily. I just – I want to talk." He sounded desperate but resigned as if he was a dead man who knew his fate was sealed. Even her aortic artery, back in the recesses of her heart, cried out to him but she was hesitant. Her eyes saw the despair but her brain saw the cold look in his eyes and heard, over and over again the "No."

She couldn't do this.

She shook her head, looking down at her sock covered feet. Pink and Green didn't clash as violently as she had once thought. Staring at her feet, she willed them to move before her mouth ran off without her again. Her feet finally listened but it was too late. It was too late because his arms were already wrapped around her – how had he gotten this far so quickly and quietly, the ninja? – and she was enveloped in cashmere and the smell of burning wood and aftershave and _James_. His hands were large and they skimmed over her back, willing the tension her shoulders kept hold of so fervently to disappear into the air. Willing her to trust him. _Trust Me_ his hands said. _Please_. His thumbs rubbed tiny circles around her back but it wasn't enough.

"James, I-" she said into his upper right shoulder. Her hands still clenched at her side and her toes lay flat against the ground. Her nose was squashed awkwardly into a bit of muscle and she turned her head to ease the squashed feeling and with it a little bit of the tension slipped out like sand through an hour glass. _I can't do this._

"Shh." He said, but he meant, _I know. I'm sorry_.

_I'm sorry_. His hands said now. _I'm sorry_ as they stopped their skimming and their tiny circles and settled around her waist.

Even though it was still far away, she could see the stone wall on the other side of the room. See the dozing portraits. See the objects left behind on that golden couch – the couch that fourth years liked to claim as their own as they laughed and they joked and they just tested out the boundaries of being a teenager. They flirted. They dated. She even saw some fourth years kissing the other week and it brought back memories of being a fourth year and kissing Marc Jacobs, who, of course, turned out to be a complete berk, but now – now. This wasn't Marc Jacobs. This was James. And as he finally began to speak, she could feel the vibrations mix with the beat of his heart – the thump thump thump that her ear could just faintly hear.

"What's wrong?"

_Really?_ Somehow, she resisted rolling her eyes and rolling her fingers into fists to punch him in the face, even though he so dearly deserved it. Instead, she restrained herself and pulled back out of his arms and crossed her arms to prevent them from pulling him towards her again._ Bad arms. Stay still. _She took a breath as she tried to think of a way to explain this that didn't make her sound so pitiful. Downhearted. Rejected. Crazy? Yes. Crazy too, but only a little.

"I understand," she finally said, studying the pattern in the knit of the cashmere. "I understand how you feel, but I'm still just a little upset, you know? I'm a – well, a girl – and I- I get hurt from rejection too."

He stiffened at that and she thought, _well, if you didn't want to talk about it why did you bring it up?_

"What do you mean?" He asked, and she could hear the defense in his tone and she could see it in the stiff of his back and the hunch in his shoulder and how the lines in his face got suddenly so much more pronounced and – why was_ he_ defensive? She was the victim here.

"I mean, when we talked, I was kinda – hurt, you know? It takes me some time to get over that."

Now he looked defensive and confused and his mouth did that thing where it gaped open as if his brain had too much to think about and couldn't waste any energy thinking about silly things like what his mouth was doing. "Lily," he said, but it was a question. "How were _you _hurt? I – I was hurt. You. What you said-"

And the anger then was building up and building up and she tried to calm down tried so hard but a little leaked out and she snapped: "What, a girl can't ask you out without you getting hurt?"

And then he just looked confused but his mouth finally snapped shut just as the defensive tone left his voice. "Lily, what are you talking about?"

"Today," she wanted to yell but she didn't. "Or, well, last night really. When we talked? Don't you remember what you said?"

And now her hand was reaching up to fluff up her hair but she didn't even notice that she had picked up that annoying habit as he began to speak.

"I didn't see you last night." He said, but it too was a question. An upward inflection at the end. Like _Are you crazy? What are you talking about?_ "I had Quidditch practice until late and then collapsed immediately after and fell asleep."

"No!" She said, and this time it almost was a yell. Her brain registered that she had stomped her left foot and was almost in full-blown temper tantrum mode so she reigned it in. Cool Lily. Take a breath. "I _saw_ you. Last night. I came down and you were sitting on the couch and I pulled you aside and I, ridiculously, asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me and you said _no_."

And then something in his brain clicked on and he remembered. She could see it in his eyes. He remembered. He regretted? "I think I- yes. I did sit down on the couch and then you – you came up to me and – I thought you had been talking about just going as friends! Or worse, as Heads, which would have been way worse – way way worse."

"Merlin! You are such an idiot!" She said, but she was laughing now and he was putting his arms around her and she was actually – yes, her arms were actually reaching around him and hugging him back. "I thought you _hated_ me!"

"I thought you hated me too," he said, but he was smiling and he was laughing and the hazel in his eyes – mmm. The hazel in his eyes. "After that fight last week, I thought you would never like me like I wanted you to. Would never fancy me."

"But I do," she said, and she only blushed a little. "And I was hoping that me asking you to Hogsmeade would tell you, but-"

"But I am an idiot." He finished. And yes. That was definitely regret in his eyes. "I am such an idiot."

She hugged him closer. "But you're a lucky idiot. I'm a lucky idiot. This could have dragged on for days and we would have both been completely miserable and-"

"But it won't. We aren't. We won't be," he said pulling her closer as well and kissing her forehead fondly. "Go to Hogsmeade with me." He said to the top of her head. She leaned back to look up at him and he was smiling. Merlin, his teeth were so _white_. "Please, Lily. Please say you will."

She nodded and smiled and laughed disbelieving. Merlin, what an awful night! "Yes," she said, because she needed to. "Yes."

And then he let go of her to let out a loud whoop of joy and then hugged her closer again and then let go of her _again_ and a couple of the first years came down to see what all the commotion was and as they rubbed their little hands over groggy eyes, Lily couldn't help but smile.

And her heart beat with it and her lungs moved with it and her hands moved up to cover her blushing cheeks and she couldn't convince her mouth to close from smiling. She could do this. No, she did this.

Yes. She thought, _yes_.

**A/N: So I absolutely _hate_ writing angst and would write any other genre in a heartbeat but this would not leave me alone. I _had_ to write it. This story was very cathartic for me – I really needed to get all of these feelings of rejection just out on the table and so – here they are. And while I really hope you liked it and _I really really hope you review_, this one was for me. So, I'm okay with it not getting reviews. At least, that's what I tell myself now when I feel accomplished for writing something that I love this much.**

**But yeah, if you have any thoughts about this, I'd absolutely love to hear them.**

**Love, Laura**


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